


Curious Inhibitions

by Soupernabturel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agender Castiel, Alternate Canon, Alternate Season/Series 10, Because it's Porn, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Bunker Fic, Castiel Does Not Give a Shit About Gender, Domestic Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfluid Dean, Genderqueer Dean Winchester, Gratuitous Smut, Ignoring Safe-sex, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Panty Kink, Sex Toys, Various Kinks Inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is recovering from the Mark of Cain, bored and all alone when a mysterious package is delivered to the Bunker's doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> My version of PWP which ended up somewhat plotty anyway.
> 
> Divided into two parts because I'm the writer here so *flips off the world* Second half will be up soon!!

There was a package by the front door.

 

It was large but light, about the length of Dean's shoulders, and it had no more weight than a pillow. Dean moved it about in his hands, passing it back and forth, squeezing the edges. He could feel the shifting of fabric beneath the thick packaging material. Curiosity piqued, he tucked the mail under one arm and stepped out of the doorway.

 

He looked left down the road, he looked right.

 

Empty forest. An 'only-visible-if-you-squint' road.

 

Who the hell would deliver mail _here_?

 

The parcel must have been left here for hours, enough for a light sprinkling of dew to form on the thick plain packaged wrapping, blurring the name that was labelled there:

 

_Steven Prince._

 

Dean snorted, an unsightly sound that he was glad that he was the only one to hear. He looked over the parcel again, Steven Prince's parcel, and wondered what kind of mail-man would dump such a thing  in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

 

“Well Steven Prince,” Dean said to himself, ducking back into the (suffocating) safety of the Bunker. “Today's your unlucky day.”

 

oOo

 

It had been almost three weeks since they had removed the Mark of Cain, with enough blood sweat and tears (most definitely not Dean's tears) to make cause for another Ark.

 

The three had stumbled into the Bunker exhausted, barely able to walk. Sam and Cas held Dean up, one on each side.

 

Apparently he had been unconscious for days, a side effect of Cas' Angel grace running rampant in his system, fighting the Mark from the inside.

 

Dean awoke to a world no longer tinged by a border of red. A world where the Mark was burnt away, where all the demons (with the exception of a few stragglers on earth) were locked in Hell with the key thrown away. It was as close to peaceful as the world could ever get.

 

And almost perfect, Dean thought privately, because it was a world where Cas was human.

 

For the last three weeks Dean had tried to ignore that fact, how Cas had become human for him (again) and been punished (again) by his brothers and sisters unable to return to Heaven. But seeing Cas actually act human on a day to day basis, all day, every day, made it almost impossible to ignore. And such a thing was only made so, with the lack of Demons and Angel, replaced by the casual salt and burn, a few Wendigo's and the occasional wayward witch.  
  
  
So hunting had slowed down, Dean was still trying to gain his bearings Mark-free.

 

To cut a long story short Dean was bored, restless and guilty.

 

At first, hauling ass to the Bunker and keeping a low profile was a matter of necessity. The three of them had been at their wit's ends, but after almost a month of Bunker-cooked meals, (courtesy of Dean who even though for the first few weeks could barely stand at the stove, like hell was he going to allow either Sam or Cas near his kitchen), they had grown restless.

 

( _You've just been cured of being a Demon, had the Mark of Cain removed, and been annihilated from the inside out by Cas' grace. You need a break- we all do._ )

 

Sam's voice in Dean's head was remarkably lifelike. Almost as though he was right there-

 

Dean turned around on his way down the front stairs.

 

Nope, still alone. Alone, in the Bunker.

 

Dean sighed.

 

He'd been forced to stay back from cases since being freed of the Mark. After weeks of the three of them lazing about, finally Sam and Cas had cracked; though really it was probably more so Sam then anyone else, since becoming human Cas seemed content with almost everything, casting Dean small smiles when their eyes would meet. Sam had decided to take care of a quick salt and burn nearby, and of course he had to take Cas with him.

 

Dean was still having a little trouble coming to grips with the fact that he'd been  _fucking left behind_ , and treated like a child.

 

He didn't need space, what he needed was something to do.

 

Steven's package sat on the table, unopened. Mysterious.

 

Which was justification enough in Dean's mind for him to plonk down at the table and rip open the paper with large, hunter's hands, his well-buried curiosity far outweighing his foresight.

 

At the sight of soft black fabric Dean's hands paused. In a movement more like a cradle than a grab, he lifted the garment from the paper-

 

Almost in slow motion, Dean lifted out the black, semi-transparent material from inside. Sleek and sheer, the garment unfolded, it’s straps falling down as Dean gripped it in the middle, thick calloused fingers gentle with the delicate fabric.

 

When he realised what it was he was holding Dean promptly dropped it, and fled from the room.

 

He got about ten paces, pressed against the other side of the entryway, before he had to stop.

 

Dean felt pathetic, hiding in another room, afraid of a friggen dress (not a dress, he told himself quietly, a babydoll négligée, with lace trimming on the straps). He stood there in his ripped jeans and flannel shirt, hair just unwashed enough to be greasy. God this was ridiculous.

 

It had almost looked as though it was big enough…

 

Dean wasn’t even sure when he had crept back into the room, but he knew he was staring at the négligée, he knew he would look ridiculous to anyone if they were around. He couldn’t bring himself not to feel self-conscious about that; was this how he usually stood? Was this how a person breathed?

 

Dean edged closer with halted steps. The black babydoll dress was laid out on the table, slightly creased, slightly crumpled now, but endlessly beautiful. It was black and delicate and light to the touch-

 

Dean drew back his wayward fingers and sucked in a breath when he realised there were another two matching nighties inside the package, carefully folded, one a deep navy blue, the other strawberry red.

 

Dean stood in the Bunkers kitchen and stared at the opened package on the table. He didn’t move his feet, and couldn’t see anything through the sudden blur blocking his vision.

 

Fuck, all of them looked as though they could fit.

  
His heart leapt in times with one footstep. He walked till he hit the table edge, a soft press against his even softer stomach (almost a month in the Bunker recovering was to blame for that) and looked at the nighties properly.

 

The length would have covered his rear and not much more. They had slim hips but long straps and shoulders that were far broader than what could be considered normal for such a dainty appearing garment.

 

Dean blinked and looked away. He couldn’t really be thinking... God, what was wrong with him. It didn’t matter how much he ached seeing them, being so close to touching the material, slipping it on over his hea-

 

Dean stormed out of the kitchen with all the force of an avalanche, his vision a blur until he felt the comforting weight of a gun in his hand and, inexplicably, he was standing in the gun range, finger on the trigger ready to fire.

 

The metal of the gun was cool to the touch.  
  


 

 **BANG.BANG.BANG.BANG.BANG.BANG.** chhik, chhik, **BANG.BANG.BANG.BANG**

Someday dreams were better left as musings, some desires buried.

 

_But no one would know if you did.._

 

Dean was alone.  Alone in the Bunker, his home. Cas wasn’t here Sam- thank fuck Sammy wasn’t here either, with his face and his stupid questioning (or worse understanding) eyes.

 

With every reload, with every round, Dean’s insides slowly twisted into an uncomfortable pretzel of forlornness that was distinctly different than anything he’d felt before. Or at least anything he could remember feeling.

 

Dean didn’t last a full hour in the gun range before he was scampering back to the kitchen. Clutching the nighties to his chest he darted across the empty Bunker back to his room.

 

 

oOo

 

In the safety of his bedroom Dean let out a breath, feeling more at ease. Now he was truly in private, which made everything all so much easier.

 

“Fuck.”  he said, and dropped his horde on his bed. “Fuck this.”

 

Fuck being the way he was, and feeling shame for what he wanted to do. He couldn’t even believe he was even thinking about this.

 

It wasn’t too late to pack it all back up, forward it on and forget this ever happened. Maybe have a beer or five, get a nice buzz going and spend the rest of the night before a screen (more likely to be catching up on Dr Sexy MD. rather than scouting for Busty Beauties), and then this Steven Prince guy can get back his-

 

Steven Prince.

 

So that meant, that Steven, a dude had ordered these.

 

Somehow that was the tipping point.

 

Dean didn’t work out (at least not conventionally), but hunting had helped him to keep a toned physique. At least until his recent sabbatical. Still, his muscles were lean and undefined, only the very barest hint of muscle about his middle (what with the light pudge about his waist). Dean lifted all three babydoll tops from the packaging and spread them down on his bed.

 

Dean sat his ass on the bed, kicking off his boots, socks and jeans.

 

The red one was nice bright, (close to pink) and was so light when Dean lifted it up. It stood out against his tanned skin. Dean shifted a little bit to get more comfortable and shivered when he pressed the material to his chest.

 

It felt even better to slip the nightie on over his head. God it felt like sex, or more accurately, the hugging that came _after_ sex (though Dean would never admit out loud that that was the best part). Dean slid right in, getting up on his knees on the bed as the material fell around him. It was tight, but not as much as it would have been if it was made for a woman -for clearly it was made for a man, or at least someone broader. Dean shook, his breathing ragged with more than one kind of excitement. The garment fell like a red wave, soft and smooth on his skin, folding into and around him.

 

He didn’t look in a mirror, (wasn’t ready for that yet) but the feel of it, the small swoosh-ing sound the cloth made when Dean childishly wiggled his hips. It was heaven (or really what Heaven _should_ have been like, thoes bastards).

 

Dean settled his palms on his hips, pressing his fingers into his skin. He slowly dragged them up his hips, his chest, feeling the way the negligee bunched up under his fingers, tickled his sides.

 

When Dean sat back down, the negligee fanned out around him.

 

He was smiling, unconsciously, but the smiled vanished when he slide a palm down his chest, reaching lazily to finger the slight bulge of his crotch.

 

So yeah, Dean had forgotten that that would happen.

 

After a moment of deliberation, he laid down. Normally, he would close his eyes take himself in hand, imagine or watch a scene and just go to town, but this time Dean wanted to go slow. He wanted to watch.

 

After spending a moment rubbing the end of the lingerie between his thumb and forefinger, Dean got back to the task at hand. Literally. Dean felt his eyelashes flutter as his hips automatically rolled with the pressure from his other hand, seeking friction, but Dean kept himself under wraps.

 

It was unconscious, Dean leaving his erection alone to play again with what he was wearing.

 

He did start to bite his lower lip when eventually his hand sunk lower down his abdomen until it encircled his cock, straining against its red delicate cage. His thumbs toyed for a while with the head through the cloth, but the fabric was a little strange on the sensitive head of his cock, so he drew back.

 

Dean hiked the nightie up, as much as it pained him to do so, freeing his erection. He moved his hands down, tracing the very tips of his fingers over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. His skin tingled in the wake of their path, and he closed his eyes and just felt.

 

He kept his touches light, just bringing the heel of his hand down over himself, using the tips of his fingers to pitter-patter up the length of his cock, almost playfully. The texture of the satin shifted over his balls, his thighs, catching against the heated sensitive skin and dragging. The friction was delicious so Dean rubbed at his shaft with the bunched up negligee in hand, a sensation that had his breath catching and toes fanning out.

 

Looking down at the flushed head of his cock, surrounded on all sides by red fabric, soft as silk, Dean rubbed his thumb over the head on his upstroke, pushing out a creamy white pulse of precome.

 

Red and white, like a candycane. Dean gave a breathless laugh and used one hand to search out the lube bottle in his bedside. He wasn’t sure what he was more focused on, the way his cock was arching towards him, the head shiny, precome pearling, dribbling down his shaft making him slick, or the way the baby doll top was spread out over his thighs, hiked up on to his stomach, framing his cock.

 

Dean gave up on the lube and brought his hand to his thigh, digging his fingers into his negligee and pulling in time to the slight upturn of his hips as he jacked himself off, no longer just probing with his fingers and palm.

 

He imagined what it would be like if Cas’ was the fist he was fucking into to. Cas mouthing at Dean’s thigh through the material, his tongue making it wet, making the top stick to his skin hot then cooling.

 

Dean’s mouth opened into a silent gasp as a bolt of heat at the thought shot right through him.

 

His fist moved faster, more insistent. Obscene wet noises filled the room as Dean bucked into his hand, legs spreading. He rolled his eyes back, and dropped his head against his pillow panting through his open mouth. His tongue darted out to lick along the seam of his lips as he switched from playing with himself to fully stroking.

 

_Behind his eyelids, Cas was sitting there on the bed beside him, naked, legs spread and open. The lights were low and the door was shut, the world outside completely oblivious to the two of them._

_Cas is kneeling between Dean’s legs, and his cock looks-well, in his head Cas’ cock looks pretty much like his does and it feels the same too, if not a bit weird smearing come over his thighs as Cas leans over and humps him, their chests rubbing together Dean’s clothed, Cas’ bare. Dean groans because he loves the feel of Cas rubbing against him. They’re way past the part where Dean tries to tell Cas he doesn't have to do this; past the part where he denies that he wants this and feels embarrassed because of what he’s wearing. Cas is reassuring and Dean is in return, each of them telling the other it is okay, it feels good._

_Then Cas is jacking Dean nice and even not too fast because he doesn’t want to hurt him, keeping his pace slow how Dean needs it. Dean’s not looking at Cas, his eyes closed because he doesn’t have to worry about how Cas is looking back, because Cas knows how much this means to Dean._

 

He was barely able to hold back the purling moan that bubbled up, at the same glorious moment he spilled over his hand, thick and warm.

 

In the aftermath Dean lay exhausted, sweaty, the red lingerie clinging to his form in a way that was both uncomfortable and satisfying.

 

oOo

 

  
To say Dean was surprised when the next day another package was delivered to the Bunker would be an understatement.  
  


To say that Dean wasn’t able to look at himself in the mirror the next morning was also an understatement.

 

_Steven Prince. Male lingerie enthusiast apparently._

 

Dean sat in the war room with a surprise coffee (the surprise being the alarming lack of coffee in lieu of scotch whiskey), he was in a bathrobe, having taken two showers, one for last night, one again just to be sure.

 

The new package was on the table, unopened.

 

It wasn’t soft like the last one. It was bulky, rectangular, unmistakable.

  
Steven Prince.

 

“Who are you masked man?”  Dean said to no one.

 

He sat and he stared and he drank and he stared.

 

What kind of man buys womens(ish) lingerie, has it delivered, and then orders something else, only for both packages to be sent to the wrong location? Steven Prince was a faceless man in Dean’s mind, faceless and tanned. He was probably lithe, with broad shoulders like Dean, gorgeous (and Dean would kill anyone who ever knew that he used the word or how sometimes he thought men were exactly that), and would look amazing in the lingerie.

 

Whatever else he brought probably would look fantastic too.

 

Perhaps it was the lack or coffee (and the consumption of whiskey) but Dean didn’t care, didn’t even feel the smallest bit guilty.

 

Everyone he knew or cared about was not around to judge him.

 

He wanted what was in the box.

 

Dean ripped into the box, carefully of course, there amongst the tissue paper was two pairs of lace panties, and one (expensive looking) toy.

 

'Prostate Massage'. The label read. Dean had to read it twice.

 

This day was turning out to be the most awesome day he had had in ages.

 

He smiled with whiskey burnt lips, clutched the opened box to his chest and ran back to his room.

 

 

oOo

 

The words _prostate_ and _massage_ together had never been a part of Dean’s conscious vocabulary.

 

Dean had grinned the entire time he stripped naked. The babydoll tops from yesterday were spread out on his bed. Still with awe at the feel, Dean took his time smoothing out the fabric over his waist and thighs, allowing himself a moment to just sit and enjoy the moment.

 

When creeping guilt filtered through the edges of his awareness Dean took another cup full of ‘special coffee’.

 

Pleasantly buzzed in the most innocent of ways, Dean became interested in a different kind of buzz.

 

Which was really the very short and decisive process that lead to Dean once more, flat on his back, with lube and a rechargeable prostate massager beside him. His panties had been discarded long ago, a cute tanga pair, all black lace and elastic made to caress his cock and balls like cupped palms made of silk.

 

Dean looked pretty, he looked sexy.

 

It wasn't his fault that he hadn't been able to properly enjoy getting hard since the Mark of Cain. Now however it was almost as though he couldn't get enough.

 

The feel of fingers inside of him was not a new sensation for Dean, but anything bigger than one or two of his own was foreign.

 

Dean had to stop for a second and adjust to the feeling. He slowly pumped his fingers back in, rubbing against his prostate with every few strokes. It was easy to lose himself in his own twisting fingers, fucking himself till his breaths started to come in faster and faster till Dean reached blindly for Stev-the vibrator.

 

Dean left himself wet and empty, his hole clenching around nothing.

 

Looking at the vibrator now it seemed almost bigger. Four inches was nothing, four inches was- fine.   
  


Dean swallowed, and lifted his hips to unbunch the babydoll négligée from around the small of his back. Grabbing the lube, he generously slicked up the toy, more than was probably necessary.

 

Taking in a deep, calming breath, Dean wrapped one arm around his leg and pulled it to his chest, using his other hand to press  the tip of the toy into position. A blunt pressure, a slow push. It was fucking good; the angle a bit off, the position a bit awkward, but Dean let out a long hard moan, half because he felt it, half because he could. He lifted his hips and the babydoll fabric shifted over his skin. There was something about it that was so dirty, his position, what he was wearing, the toy, so well-lubed that some was dripping down past his hole.

 

“Christ,” Dean breathed, adjusting to the invasion. The toy wasn’t even all the way in, just resting on the base of his prostate, yet already he felt stretched wide and full. Dean closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

 

Taking a moment, he turned the end nozzle on the toy’s base and it came alive. It vibrated relentless against his prostate, igniting that small bundle of nerves.

  
  
“F-Fuck!”   
  


Dean let out a strangled sound, a gasp and a gurgle all in one, and rolled his hips, too nervous to really buck. He slammed one hand down onto the bed, gripping both the edge of his lingerie and the bed sheet in turn, fingers twisting and twitching.  
  


 

Dean rolled his hips, the vibrator pushed further in. “F-fucking shit.”

 

He could feel his the head of his cock occasionally bobbing down with every roll of his hips, as though to anoint his clothed stomach with dribbling precome. After a few more moments of just basking in the sensation, Dean slowly lowered his raised leg (ooh mmpfh) changing the angle as he used his other hand to stroke his cock, light and loose fisted.

 

The toy pulsed inside him, insistent on his prostate, even as Dean withdrew it a little before fucking it back in, making a sloppy squelching noise. Head thrown back and mouth open, Dean wanted to wriggle away from it- too much, too much- to pull it out, but his body pushed back and remained paralysed in bliss.  

 

“Yes,” Dean whispered, shuddering. “ _Ohh_ , yes... _yes_...”

  
A better angle, a harsh whine. Dean turned his head into the pillow as the toys vibrations coupled with swift, loose strokes of his hand took him apart. In his own excitement he pushed the vibrator in further, unforgivingly pulsing on his sweet spot. With a needy noise and two more strokes Dean came, working himself through it with twitches and gentle thrusts. His lingerie was ruined, sloppy and glued to his skin, his come stuck in thick globs that Dean only smeared in deeper when he shifted onto his side.

 

Dean winced as he took a few minutes to slowly work out the vibrator and toss it aside.

 

He was overcome with dizziness now, the kind that went beyond his head, swirling in his limbs,pounding being the cage of his chest.

 

But there was still buzzing.

 

Dean blinked and lifted his hand weakly to grasp his vibrating phone, not even looking at the caller I.D.

 

‘3 missed calls’. Dean answered without thinking.  
  


“Eh?” he hummed, lethargic and post orgasm. There was the faint sound of the radio on the other line, the hum of the Impala.  
  


Sam’s voice crackled down the line. “Forget to answer your phone or something.” he laughed. “Just calling to let you know we may be a little while yet. Turns out our Ghost’s body is less buried than it was cremated.”  
  


Dean froze. The fog of his orgasm all but evaporated.

  
“-So we’ll probably be back in a few days,” said Sam, then something faint out of earshot, maybe it was Cas. Dean wanted to throw up. “After, Cas wants to stop by Jody’s to see Claire. Dean-” a tense silence in which, Dean could hear the tone of Sam’s voice change, could picture in his mind's eye the pinpoint frown of his brows puckering.

 

Dean was silent. He couldn’t move. Breathe.

 

“Are you alright?” Sam asked.

 

Dean's insides curdled in shame, shame that radiated from his gut right to his extremities. He sat upright, his négligée shifting to fan out across his lap and sloppy, soft dick. The reality of the situation hit Dean then. He got off wearing some strangers fucking kink wear. He got off, fucking himself while wearing someone else's fucking lingerie, and now was expected to talk to his brother as though h wasn’t sitting there in his own filth and practically naked?  That made him gross and weird and a desperate freak...

 

“Yeah. Yeah m’fine Sammy.” Dean managed, praying that his words didn’t sound as insincere to Sam as they were to say.  

 

He shifted and now was acutely aware in the most uncomfortable of ways how the fabric moved with him, how the delicate, red material hung off his frame revealling everything.

 

Fuck what had he been thinking?

 

Dean choked, and rubbed a furious hand over his face, rubbing more insistently over his eyes. “Actually, Sammy- I’m gonna have to call you back.”

 

“-Dean? Wha-”

 

Dean didn’t let him finish.

  
Click.

 

Dean’s phone was a sturdy thing and could certainly cop quite the beating, even if Dean didn’t mean to toss it quite so far across the room.

 

“Fuck.” Dean said and buried his face into his pillow. “Fuck, fuck fuck. Shit. Fuck.”

 

He stumbled to the bathroom down the hall, stripping and discarding the babydoll dress as he went as though the pretty thing burnt him. He wrapped himself up in the grey-dead guy bathrobe, refusing to lift his eyes from the floor before each of this footsteps.

  
The real world was calling.


	2. Part II

Really there was more to all this than Dean let on.

 

The Mark had been like rust, eroding away at him, hardening his skin, making parts of him flak away. The Mark had been all hardness and pain and burning. scratching at him, corrosive and rough.

 

But really his repression went far further back than that. To John Winchester, to his childhood, to taunts of 'pretty boy' and 'look after your brother'. But Dean was not going to go through that now. If he did he'd end up on the couch of a shrink or worse a padded room by the end of it.

 

After breakfast Dean made a beeline for the front door. Another package, the smallest one yet, and when Dean opened it, more panties, this time satin, full backed.

 

Dean was fine, he just needed to do something with his hands, so he got changed, slipping the panties, silky smooth and cool on his legs and thighs, on under a worn pair of sweats and headed back to his room.

 

Dean knew what he was doing, and that was probably the worst part.

 

He was a killer. A hunter. From that night in Sam’s nursery onwards, Dean’s whole life had been death and battle and hardness. He’d had blood on his hands by the time he was thirteen. Fighting, hunting. It was a part of him.

 

But since the Mark Dean had figured out there were other parts to him too, or at least become more open (or bored enough) to explore them. In the aftermath of the Mark, those first few seconds of blackness that felt like the first death all over again, he realised there was a hole in his heart the size of Kentucky than Dean was the only one who needed to know that.

 

He had a home (a safe, private home) and he had a family. His brother and Cas, his Baby- it was more than he ever thought of having, and more than he thought he deserved.

 

In the Bunker Dean was centred. He had his stuff and his memory foam mattress and it was far easier to feel calm here than anyone else in the world (with the exception of his Baby). Dean cared about the bunker, even after the Mark’s influence.

 

And when Dean cared about something he cared _for_ it.

 

For the first time in a long time Dean cared about himself, having Cas and Sam almost kill themselves in the process of trying to save him- was a bit of an eye-opener in that regard.

 

Maybe Dean was worth something? Maybe he deserved to have a break, have nice things.

 

Maybe it was okay that Dean could treat himself a little, just while Cas and Sam were away.

 

He deserved more than a scratchy motel bed. He had his own room now, his home. A part of Dean was settling into the fact that finally they had a chance to actually make a home for themselves, the three of them, safe and together. Dean could finally relax without the fear of someone coming after them, facing the next big bad thing, he could take the time to enjoy himself.

 

An unstoppable blush painted Dean’s cheeks when he adjusted himself and was acutely reminded of what he was wearing beneath his clothes.

 

Comfortable (more so than he had been in a long time), Dean flittered about the Bunker, eyes lazily tracking and cataloguing mismatched stacks of books, dusty corners, a countertop that could do with a wipe down, a pile of laundry in Sam’s room that needed cleaning.

 

The Bunker could do with a sprucing, it was the perfect opportunity for it. Dean smiled to himself.

 

He started on dusting, getting out the spray and the rags. Dean moved through the Bunker methodically, cleaning top to bottom. He took on the floors with a mop and bucket, discarding his shirt somewhere around lunch time, before he focused on the kitchen.

 

By the time he was done, half the Bunker including the kitchen and bathroom was polluted with the smell of cleaning products. It would fade in a day Dean was sure, and maybe he was a little high from the fumes, for he wiggled his ass to the tune of unheard music, stopping for some lunch before he went on.

 

Dean didn’t need to be a soldier anymore, the world was saved, they’d done it. They were free.

 

He was happy to clean house, drink beer and dance a little instead.

 

 

oOo

 

It took Dean the rest of the day into the evening to do the laundry. The combined effort of his determination coupled with his good mood had Dean working through all of the bedrooms (unoccupied and occupied to boot), ripping the sheets off of all the beds, freeing pillows from their pillow cases. Sam had an inordinate amount of laundry (but at least his were in the hamper,) unlike Cas who's borrowed, newly brought and hand-me-down clothes were tossed about the room as though he had personally sought to begin the foundations of burying himself alive.

 

Dean was just pulling out the last load of laundry, thinking it was well beyond dinner time, when he heard echoes of voices and the faintest of footsteps around the Bunker.

 

Sam hadn't been bothered to text him and tell him that they'd be back so soon.

 

Dean ran, abandoning the laundry. Instinct took over as he bolted from the direction he could hear Sam and Cas coming from, hoping to double back around through one of the Bunker's halls to escape to his room undetected. He could not be seen wearing women' s panties, even if they were under his sweats, they'd be able to tell (Cas would be able to tell.) The irrationality of the idea didn't escape Dean, which only made him run faster- the fastest he'd run since removing the Mark. His lungs burned as he navigated the labyrinthine hallways, completely unaware as to where either Cas or Sam was, (in the front room, he prayed, please be in the front room.)

  
  
Dean's insides were twisted up in shame, fear curdling common sense, radiating outwards making him shake. He wanted to just wear women’s underwear as if it was normal? Like a little girl. That made him gross and weird and a total _freak_ , didn’t it?

 

When Dean slipped into his room just as he heard voices rounding the corner, calling his name, he dived, switched off the light with a slam of his fist (being underground lights in the Bunker was always on during the day time) and landed on his bed with an _ummpf_. Scrambling under the covers, Dean kicked off his sweats and tore the panties from himself, ignoring the pang of hurt that caused him.

 

Naked, under the covers, Dean rolled on his side, his back to the door and tried to control his breathing-

 

Dean's door edged open.

 

“Dean?” Sam said gently. Light spilled through in a beam, Sam had probably poked his head in, seeing nothing but Dean in bed, covered by a blanket.

  
Dean tensed, praying (not praying) to God that his breaths appeared slow and steady despite the rapid hammering of his heart.

 

“He’s asleep.” Sam said, his voice a little fainter as he retreated.

  
Dean didn't relax though as neither man had moved from the door.

 

“This early in the evening?”

  
  
Cas' voice.

  
Dean shifted, dragging his blanket higher up his shoulders, covering himself. He felt stifled beneath the blanket, it was neither a cool nor hot night but Dean was sweltering, a stinging bead of sweat dripped into the inner corner of his eye before continuing down his nose. He didn't dare move or wipe it away.

 

Served him right for sprinting halfway across the Bunker. If he got a heart attack now he'd consider it a blessing.

 

“I was recovering for weeks after the trials.” said Sam gently. Dean heard his door click shut. Sam's voice, when he spoke next, was barely audible. Dean had to concentrate hard to hear it. “We'll let him sleep.”

 

  
Cas mumbled something low and the two of them moved away from the doorway and down the hall.

 

Dean didn't get to sleep for a long time, his nerves too shot and his mind to crowded to grant him the reprieve of sleep.

 

oOo

 

Dean walked into the Bunker's kitchen the next morning like a stray dog fearing being sent away from the shelter of an occupied home.

 

Despite even his own misgivings, Dean's heart gave a heartfelt thump in his chest at the sight of Sam and Cas in the kitchen. Sam standing by the sink, leaning against it, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand as he sipped it and talked animatedly. Cas was at the table, coffee also and his eyes on today's newspaper. Neither looked much worse for wear, a little bumps and bruises occupational hazard of a hunt but both well none the less. Some of Dean's anxiety ebbed and he found himself smiling.

 

Family. Home.

 

Of course then Cas looked up and smiled back at him.

 

“Hey.” Dean said, shifting his eyes from Cas so it was clear he was addressing the both of them.

 

“Hey,” Sam greeted, smiling. “Thought you were never going to get up.”

 

“What can I say, finally got some sleep with all the peace and quiet around here.” Dean padded to Sam's side and the coffee pot behind him, pouring himself a generous mug.

 

Sam huffed a laugh, but nudged Dean with his hip as Dean passed, making his way for the kitchen table.

 

Cas looked up when Dean sat, bottle-glass blue eyes fixed on Dean with their usual intensity.

 

“Hello Dean.” he said.

 

Dean looked down at the darkly coloured sludge that was his coffee. “Hey Cas.” he said to it, but smiled.

 

He could feel Cas smile in return.

 

“So you guys ganked the ghost early?” Dean asked, slipping into his seat. His robe rubbed against his legs and thighs, though soft it was far firmer than anything he had been wearing recently. The sharp contrast; uncomfortable.

 

Sam brought the coffee pot to the table and filled up his own mug and then Cas'. “Yeah, got in last night, we would have woken you but-”

 

“You looked so peaceful.” Cas said. There was tenderness in his words, and Dean looked at him properly. He had kindness in his eyes, and a childish warmth in his smile.

 

Dean had noticed it more and more just how much younger Cas looked in moments, now that he was human.

 

Dean sucked his lower lip under his teeth. “Yeah, well- like I said, it's been nice around here.”

 

“Very clean.” Sam commented, hiding a smile behind his cup.

 

Dean’s shoulders raised defensibly. “Yeah well it had to be done,” he mumbled, good mood fading. “You guys leave your crap everywhere, and this place hasn't seen a thorough cleaning since the friggin fifties. If ever.”

 

Sam was looking at him with that _look-_ not pitying because that wasn’t in Sam’s character, but it was something close, something empathetic, as though he understood more about Dean’s words than he did, which was stupid, Dean was the one saying them.

 

“Someone had to do it.”

 

“It's good Dean.”

 

At the sound of Castiel’s voice Dean unconsciously moved closer, seeking reassurance. Cas never gave him that pitying look, his eyes too distractingly blue for Dean to read them very well beyond ‘Cas is looking at you’.

 

“Very clean,” Cas said, echoing Sam's words from earlier but with none of the teasing like before.

 

Dean beamed at the praise.

 

Conversation shifted to the hunt; about the ghost, the supposed dead-end and then how Cas managed to find her tether to the world at the last second, saving a family of five from becoming ghostly barbeque and Sam to boot. Dean was proud of Cas then, and nudged him under the table with his boot. Every win, no matter how small was a win worth celebrating. The three of them talked until Dean forgot almost entirely about the awkwardness and shame of before.

 

At some point he noticed Cas holding a far-off stare. He kept glancing upstairs to the Bunker's entrance and away. Dean watched him do it a fifth time before asking; “Something on your mind Cas?”

 

“Yes, it’s just-” Cas looked away from the door and toward Dean, his lips pursed in the beginnings of a frown. “I was wondering if any mail came for me while we were away?”

 

At first the words didn't register. “Mail?”

 

“Several packages, I thought they would be delivered by now.”

 

Dean’s gut jumped from a rooftop and plummeted down twenty stories.

 

Sam was not similarly affected. “You have mail?” he asked bemusedly, if not a little uninterested.

 

“I was shopping online.” Cas said and nothing more. Sam pulled a face and Dean almost choked.

 

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

 

“Could have got lost,” said Sam, “this isn't really the prime spot for home delivery.”

 

“Packages,” Dean whispered, the world blurring around him, like a newly taken polaroid too soon exposed to sunlight.

 

Something must have been showing on Dean’s face for both Sam and Cas were staring at him.

 

“Uh Dean…” Sam asked, real concern laying over his voice. “You okay?”

 

“Fine. I’m-” Dean swallowed. He couldn’t do this. “Fine. Fantastic.”

 

He stood, and winced when his robe brushed against his calves like sandpaper compared to the lingerie he’d been wearing. The feeling only served to make Dean feel just that bit creepier than he already did. His mind a whirl still not fully processing what was happening. But his chest was tight and his eyes were stinging and he needed to leave the room immediately.

 

Sam was coming toward him a hand stretched out as thought to touch.

 

His brothers all-consuming concern was the last thing Dean needed right now.

  
He was going to be sick.

 

“Excuse me.” he said for the first time in his life, breaking out into a job down the hall, bolting for his room.

 

 

oOo

 

  
Cas’ lingerie was in Dean’s closet, his vibrator was under Dean’s pillow.

  
  
Dean stood in the corner of his room hyperventilating.

 

A shameful, nauseous weight in his stomach. His gaze slid to the floor, beneath his bed, where he'd managed to stash Steven's- Cas' things. The weight in his stomach deepened.

 

He wasn't surprised to hear footsteps on the opposite side of the door, but that didn't mean he was pleased.

 

“Dean?” Cas asked, followed by a soft knock. “Dean it’s me….Castiel.”

 

Dean wet his lips with his tongue.

 

"Go away.” he said, and resisted the urge to fall on his bed like a teenager and bury his face in his pillow.

 

Castiel’s shadow under the door did not move. “That I would do, but Sam is worried that this is-is some kind of after effect of the Marks cure.”

 

Of course. Trust Sammy to blow a gasket over Dean just wanting to be _alone_.

 

Cas’ voice, uneasy, filtered through the door. “This is not some after effect of the Marks cure?”

 

Dean sat down on his bed with a sigh. “No Cas.” he said, running a hand through his hair.

 

Dean would consider himself lucky if the Mark was to blame for his craziness. He touched the faded scar with two fingers, and could feel a phantom twinge there.

 

Cas made a sound as though he was leaning against the wall now, or sitting by Dean’s doorway. Both images as equally unlike the angelic Cas demeanor Dean knew him best for. “Dean,” he said gently. “May I come in now?” Cas sounded soft, caring, if not a little hesitant. “I believe we need to talk.”

 

Dean put his face in his hands.

 

“Dr Phil says that communication is the key to any relationship.” Cas continued, “Something I think, the two of us particularly need to work on.”

 

“He’s not a real doctor Cas,” said Dean, “and you need to stop watching tv in the freaking afternoon if that’s the kinda shit they’ve got on.”

 

“I know. But he does offer some thoughtful insight, in this instance, though I know you detest it, talking would be best. We're worried about you, Sam and I- and we don't yet know the long-term effects of the Mark- nor my Grace..”

 

By the time Cas had finished speaking Dean was by the door, one hand on the handle, the other, trying to stop the first from shaking. With a deep shaky breath, he twisted the handle and walked back toward the bed quickly, so when Cas tentatively stepped into the room he was met by Dean's back. He made a small surprised sound before doing so, obviously not expecting Dean to open up. In spite of his surprise he closed the door behind him and didn't even bat and eye when Dean stood and stared.

 

Dean could stare at the floor as much as he liked but there was no possible way for him t ignore how intensely Cas was looking at him- the same way he had a thousand times before. A familiar moment Dean found himself caught in, looking at Cas and have him looking back, reassurance, and invitation and assessment all in one measure.

 

Dean was the first to break the contact, wetting his lips as he glanced down by bed- to Cas' stuff. Cas followed his eye line, he didn't smile- he didn't frown his eyes just roamed over Dean's face, down his torso, across the floor.

 

“Steven Prince?” Dean asked, his throat struggling around the words making them rasp. “ _Really_?”

 

“It seemed a good alias.” Cas offered, “Prince is a celebrated musician, his song Purple Rain won-”

 

“I know who Prince is Cas.” said Dean.

 

Cas nodded, and stepped forward. He passed Dean without touching him, and sat down on the bed.

  
  
Dean followed.

 

“So,” Cas said. For the first time he seemed to have come apart at the edges; he hesitated before speaking, as though thinking his words over. Dean watched a ridge appear against his temples, before it smoothed out, like moulded sand. “You received my mail.” he said. Again, too neutral- too Cas to draw any emotional inflection from the words.

 

Dean made a noise at the guess, falling down beside Cas, legs spread the robe scratchy and not at all soft against his skin- at least not the kind of softness Dean craved. He sat back on his hands and took Cas in; the slump of his shoulders, the figeting hands in his lap. Cas was idly chewing his bottom lip- a too human gesture, it made Dean want to touch him, reach out.

 

“I received your mail.” his voice corroded away, as though scratched with steal wool. “and I opened it.”

 

The nudge to his side was unexpected and made Dean start, his Hunters instincts screamed at him to grab a knife, defend, something like the echo of the Mark just screams for a knife.

 

Cas was sitting so close their sides were almost touching.

 

When he met Cas' gaze again, his voice trembled,  “I-I like,” Dean swallowed. Cas nudged him again, this time softer. Encouraging. “I like girl stuff.”

 

The words so inadequate, so were the truest words Dean had spoken in longer than he could remember.

 

  
Dean was staring so pointedly at the floor he had no idea of Cas' expression. But from the tone of the ex-angel's voice, and the press of a shoulder he gathered Cas was not disgusted.

 

“Girl stuff?” Cas asked.

 

The trembling of Dean's tone got worse, and his vision started getting blurry again. “Men don’t- wear, they don’t-”

 

A soft touch to his robed thigh. Dean looked down at the touch and saw Cas' hand.

 

“Dean.” Cas said coupled with a gentle squeeze that had Dean's lips parting. “You have very archaic views of gender.”

 

Dean grit his teeth. A muscle in his jaw flinched, and he made a move to shift away. “Fine Cas, okay I get it. I’m stupid. Just get out. Leave me alone.”

 

Cas' expression broke, but he shifted across the bed giving Dean space. “That is less a reflection on you and more of your upbringing, I understand,” he paused still frowning with intense concentration down at his hands. “As a being without sex or gender, to be viewed in a certain way, in such a limited binary way as male or female is still odd for me.”

 

Surprised Dean looked up.“It is?”

 

“Of course,” Castiel said, nodding once. “Humanity can be restrictive in it's perceptions of gender normalcy. Male, female- there is so much more to a person than the sum of their biological parts. There are more genders than just, well, just two, despite how some believe. To feel that pressure of conformity day in day out, would be taxing.”

 

“Yeah. I bet.”

 

“I was talking about you Dean.”

 

Dean frowned, looking down at his hands flexing in his lap. “Oh.”

 

“A soul is as pure as an angels grace, purer even, considering the element of individuality, of free will God gifted you. A being of pure energy and will- like an angel. Do you think the soul has a static, unchanging, inflexible and determinant gender Dean?”

 

“No.”

 

Cas smiled. “And so it doesn't, if you don't want it to.”

 

Castiel shuffled a few inches closer on the bed, so his thigh was pressed against Dean’s. He didn’t say anything, but Dean doesn’t resist when he feels an arm wrapped around him-curling around his hip. A hug. Very different than any they had shared before. Dean only felt half equip to deal with that now, his emotions so frayed and scattered he wasn't even sure of what he was feeling.

 

He was too old. Too old and tired to be having an identity crisis (which to be honest had been just the below the surface of conscious thought well since his mid-teens). So tired, old, weary, Dean stretched one hand out to Cas' knee and half patted him, half braced himself, falling into the one armed hug.

 

Cas’ sharp intake of breath followed by a tight squeeze around Dean's waist was lovely. Dean moved into the hug, wrapping one arm around Cas, then two; an embrace reminiscent of Purgatory.

 

When they pulled back Cas was beaming.

 

“I like your underwear.” Dean heard himself say.

 

He caught sight of the tip of Cas' tongue as Cas wet his lips. “Oh?”

 

“I mean on you.” Dean said, feeling heat creep up from his shoulders. “I don't know. I think you'd look-” he made a gesture with his hands.

 

Cas nodded, slowly. He appeared to be blushing too. “I think you'd look lovely in them,” he told Dean.

 

Dean flushed red, a brighter fervour burning through him than before. The air was heavy and anticipatory.

  
“Are you aroused?” Castiel asked, and Dean made a sound, like a cough in his throat.  
  
“A-are you?" 

  
Cas leaned forward. The slight shift tilted Dean's entire world, but maybe he was reading this wrong, misunderstanding, maybe Cas didn't-

  
Cas lifted his chin and connected their lips.  
  
Dean leant forward, and wrapped his arms around Cas' neck. It wasn't a closed-lip kiss, at least not after a few moments. Cas opened up under Dean's lips and it was perfect. Though unpractised and a little sloppy, Cas' enthusiasm, the feel of his hands on Dean, one stroking his side, the other resting on his thigh, touching him.  
  
  
Dean didn't know why that helped, but it did. Cas' hands were warm and gentle.  
  
  
And just like that Dean's anxiety blurred and sunk into merely a footnote of everything else he was feeling. Excitement that made his heart squeeze tight, nerves that kept his fingers moving, the heat of Cas' breath had his lips parting. The firmness and pressure of Cas' lips and tongue against his own.

  
“Mmm,” Dean murmured as he felt Cas' stubble prickle his lip.

  
Cas grinned quickly into the kiss, eyes meeting Deans.  
  
Dean tried to chase Cas for another kiss but hesitated, unable to settle on looking at one part of Cas, gazing a little absently at his lips, eyes, lips again.

  
“So,” Dean felt breathless, exhilarated. “That happened.”

  
“Indeed it did.” Cas said, equally breathy.  
  
Dean smiled meeting Cas' eye.

  
Yes, he was blushing, but he still felt tremendously untethered, a balloon let go, Cas' touch on his knee was grounding.

  
Cas tilted her head, pursing his lips as he watched Dean carefully.

All at once, Dean found himself brimming with happiness that went all the way to his toes. Grinning, he went on; “Been wanting to do that for a while. This- touch you.”

“You've touched me plenty of times.” Cas said, but there was an edge of a smile to his lips. Dean almost started when Cas reached up to pet his hair, raking his fingers through the strands. “Though I suppose this variety of touching _is_ different.”  
  
“Good different?” Dean asked.  
  
Cas leant in and kissed him in answer.

  
Even human, there was an element to Cas that made him all-consuming, like a lightning storm trapped in a bottle- a presence overflowing. That was what it was, electrifying, every touch from Cas was like a lightning bolt, charging an electric current under his skin.

 

Dean went along blindly as Cas laid down, shifting his weight on the bed so he was on his back and Dean above him. Dean let his fingers trail up Cas' side every so gently as he shifted his weight onto his side. He had half the mind to kiss Cas' neck, Cas must have had the same thought, because he turned his head and bared his neck, eyes half lidded.

 

Dean leant down and licked at the juncture of Cas' neck, kissing there long enough to draw blood to the surface. He went back to Cas' lips when Cas dragged him there, a hand to his cheek on in his hair. Dean's mouth parted with each individual kiss, every nip until Cas slid his hand up and into Dean's robe, off to the side, baring Dean's skin fully. Bare from the chest down.

 

Dean shifted a little self-conscious, there was a difference-making out with Cas dressed and making out with Cas nude, the layer of spare tyre around Dean's waist for a start. He wasn't fat, not at all, but there was pudge there on his tummy, now exposed and now being squeezed, as Cas made a soft sound, his kissing firmer.  
  
“Wait, Cas-”  
  
Cas pulled back without a word. “I apologise,” he said rushed. “That was too forward of me-”

  
“No it's fine, really.” Dean eased, his body felt like a live wire, both calming and stressful at the same time. “Just a little unbalanced here you know?” Dean explained, gesturing down to his semi-naked self, and Cas fully clothed.

 

“Of course.” Cas said. He sat up on his elbows and pulled off his shirt,

  
“Someone's eager.” Dean laughed.  
  
Cas just looked up at him, fingers still working on his buttons. “It is the appropriate feeling for such a situation,” he unzipped his pants and started shucking them down his legs. Tighty whities, very different form the underwear he'd brought on line, but Dean was more so concerned with the bulge beneath.

 

Instead of staring Dean leant down to kiss him. Dean removed his robe as Cas took off his underwear and then, skin- soft warm skin against him. Cas' cock a hot line against him. He wasn't as toned as Dean first thought, a stomach on him as well. But Cas' arms and thighs were the real treasure, muscled, corded, god and his hipbones, Dean wanted to nibble on them.

 

Dean lent in and pulled him in close, one hand curled around Cas, the other against the bed.Years and years of repressed urges and prayers and whispers and fleeting, impossible fantasies. Things Dean wanted but wasn’t allowed. But here was Cas offering it all to him on a platter.

As though reading Dean's thoughts (which Dean prayed that Cas couldn't do anymore) Cas' lips pulled into a grin and he blinked low, eyes drifting down Dean's body, sinking to where the were joined, front to front resting against each other.

  
Cas put his palm on the small of Dean's back, pulling him closer, bringing their hips together. Feeling his and Cas' erections pressing against each other Dean sighed, and rocked down onto Cas a few times, hoping it felt as good to Cas as it did to him.

 

They rocked together for a few minutes, the fluid motion of their hips seeking each other out, until it wasn't enough either. Dean moved his hand free of Cas' back, taking matters i.e. Cas, into his own hands. He griped Cas' cock and stroked him as he'd stroke himself, getting about six strokes in before Cas grabbed Dean and pulled him onto the bed beside him.

 

“Ommf” Dean said and didn't get a chance to say much else as Cas climbed on top of him, or at least he was on top, but then he slid down, down, face with Dean's hips.

 

Dean, acutely familiar with this line of action, was unprepared for Castiel to pass his erection instead, cupping his balls in his hands and squeezing them gently.They drew up tight in anticipation but Cas chased them with his tongue. Dean could barely breathe as Cas suckled and licked him relentlessly. Warm saliva dripped down onto his chin, and Dean's toes curled, a broken moan worked out of him when Cas' thumb moved back to massage just behind his balls.

 

He barely got the chance to voice his immense approval of that idea before Cas leant forward, releasing Dean's balls and wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. He hummed.

  
Dean almost lost his mind. The look Cas cast him, cock in his mouth, was like a shot of smooth whiskey Dean could drink down in a shot. He curled fingers in Cas' hair, but Cas didn't even try to take Dean all the way in, using his hand from base to root, fingering the thick vein on the underside.

 

“Cas,” Dean managed around a choked sound. His hips canted forward, breath hitching. Cas managed to get a little more of him into his mouth, slobbering out of the corner of his mouth. His lips were stretched wide, and a completely embarrassing slurping sound escaped his throat.

 

He released Dean, precome and spit dribbling down his chin and Dean's cock made a wet splat sound when it bobbed against his belly.

 

Oh how Dean regretted speaking, but really there was a way this could be so much better.  
  
  
He leant over the edge of his bed, keenly aware of Cas' eyes on his ass as he did so. When he righted himself Cas kissed him without pause only drawing back when a whirring filled the room.  
  
  
The vibrator, _Cas' vibrator_ , drew a smile out of Cas, he looked like a kid on Christmas, which was a bit disturbing given how he was naked and hard-

Hell Dean hadn't even given Cas' cock a good look before, though to be honest it was probably inappropriate to stare, given that Cas was in the midst of palming himself.

 

“Do you wanna-”

 

“Yes, please.” Cas said coming forward.

Dean grabbed the lube while Cas took the vibrator, admiring it a little, probably seeing how different it was from what he'd ordered online.

 

With the lube, Cas slicked up his fingers setting the vibrator to the side for a moment.

  
Dean sat back on the bed, before thinking better of it, he put a pillow under his hips. “Just ah, careful alright?” _gentle_. Like lingerie softness. Dean was tired of getting hurt, tired of pain, he needed comfort softness, love.

 

Cas was the best person to give it to him.

  
“I'll always be gentle with you Dean.” Cas murmured, with one slick finger he opened Dean up, then a second finger was added, gently. Dean moaned a little in his throat, after the initial probing he felt overwhelmed, Cas opening him up with two fingers, pumping them in and out of him slowly.

 

He seemed to be enjoying the view, painfully hard as he worked Dean, his skin was flushed and glistening.

 

Once prepped there was little discussion about what came next. Cas hesitated, Dean gave permission, and with all the care and slowness one would give to finishing off the last aspects of a masterpiece, Cas worked the vibrator into Dean, not turning it on until Dean was practically writhing, his legs arching up without his accord, one trying to wrap around Cas, a heel to his back drawing the man closer.

 

The angle brought the vibrator deeper and Dean moaned, his muscles locking around the jolts of pleasure coursing through him. His tight, aching hole throbbed for more attention, his whole body jerked

 

"Shit, Cas!" Dean shouted as the pleasure toy hit his prostate, and he bit his lip. Cas was relentless keeping it there, with only small little pumps in and out which drove Dean wild. He was grasping at Cas, grasping at the air.

 

"F-fuck," he whimpered, pushing back against Cas as they made the bed creak.

 

Dean was hot all over, a different heat from the Mark, a different heat from anything. Cas was leaning over him, kissing his neck, his body all over Dean's. He kept up the impressive pace between Dean's legs, working him sloppily open, tenderising his prostate. Which was why Dean was so caught of guard when Cas -that multitasking son'nva'bitch- wrapped the fingers of his other hand around Dean's cock, pumping him in time.

 

And that was all she wrote. Dean was writhing and then he was coming, shooting between Cas' fingers, striping lines across his belly. Waves of toe-curling pleasure crashed through him, as he weakly thrust up into Cas' fist. Cas was indulgently stroking every last bit out of him.

  
The vibrations ceased, and Dean half-heartedly realised that Cas was carefully extracting the vibrator, smoothing soft fingers over the puffy, sensitive rim when it was gone. Dean relished in the feeling for a few long moments, body trembling and twitching, he grinned stupidly, but made a soft noise when Cas' lips brushed his inner thigh. Dean didn't really get the time to react as Cas was moving up to straddle Dean's thighs, one arm moving behind him.  
  
The whirr of the vibrator piqued Dean's interest, but when he realised that Cas had slipped the vibrator into himself, and then he was moving grounding down onto Dean, Dean almost felt he could come all over again.  
  
Cas' back bowed, his lips parted. He gripped Dean's sides, nails digging in, already close his cock flushed and dripping, rubbing through Dean's mess.

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas breathed out. His head was tilted back, lips parted, chin and mouth shiny with spit. Dean could only stare with wide eyes, hands reaching up to Cas' hips.

 

“I'm here, Cas m'here.” Dean panted, shaking as he clutched Cas for purchase.  
  
Cas was making small desperate sounds, that Dean committed to memory for a later date, but it didn't take Cas to long till he lost all sense of rhythm completely and came with stuttering little movements, wet and sticky between them.

 

Oh God- that sight was just _awesome_.

 

Oh sweet Jesus

 

Cas was moving, Cas was moving downward, downward face to face with Dean's stomach. Dean was about to ask what he was doing, but then Cas' tongue was there, licking up his and Dean's combined release, his tongue wet and warm, sliding up Dean's skin.

 

“Fuck Cas, Jesus-” Dean groaned, wriggling away from the attention. Cas slotted a hand to Dean's thigh for good measure as he cleaned him. When he seemed to decide he was done he scooted back up, body sliding over Dean's. He opened his mouth so Dean could see white inside it, before he slotted his mouth against Dean's feeding it to him.

 

_Oh god._

  
It tasted off, but it was Cas so Dean bared through it. He chased Cas with a kiss, the both of them opening their mouths, Dean's come and a bit of Cas' swirling around on their tongues.

 

Dean dribbled some of the come off the side of the bed, swallowing the rest. Cas swallowed it all, licking his lips.

 

Even as a human Cas was a freak.

 

Dean grunted at the weight of Cas falling forward into him his hips still giving aborted little movements, muscles shaking. He wrapped his arms around Cas who kissed his shoulder, his neck. Murmuring something in a language Dean did not understand.

But it didn't matter right now anyhow.

  
“Cas?” Dean said, one hand rubbing along Cas' spine. 

  
“Yes Dean?” Cas responded sleepily, the haze of post-coital settling into him.

 

“I didn't say this before but-” Dean laughed, really laughed for the first time in longer than he could remember. “You have really good taste, man.”

 

“I could send you a link,” Castiel hummed a low note and kissed Dean's shoulder. “I have the website bookmarked.”

  
He thought for a moment then said, “or we could shop together?”

  
Elation would be far too a simple word to describe what Dean felt. He knew he was blushing (which considering what they just did was ridiculous) but he didn't care.

Dean took a breath and then he kissed Cas.

 

Dean felt part of him melting – his heart, and as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Dean gazed at Castiel, so glad that if he were standing, he might have dropped to the floor his knees were so weak.

  
Okay he cared a little. Hiding his face into Cas' neck, he kissed Cas' shoulder and was met with a low pleased note. Cas aimed a kiss to Dean's mouth, but missed, kissing him on the jaw instead. He dropped his head back down, spent.

  
The two of them slept, intertwined, for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I am having some issues with the whole Porn-WITHOUT-Plot aspect of PWP...
> 
> So this is just something, something I hope you enjoy and if you do let me know! If you didn't let me know too, either way feedback is appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](soupernabturel.tumblr.com)


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